Myrtleberries
by ShinyShiny9
Summary: The good news? Mortal combat for the future of Ninjago is over. The bad news? Getting along from day to day may not be that much easier . . . One-shot, father-son fluff, takes place during the "few days" between episodes 28 and 29.


**Hi all! Just a lightweight little piece about Lloyd and his dad, after the blackout. I guess knowledge of episodes 28 and 29 isn't strictly necessary here, but it'd probably be helpful for context before and after. Some inspiration taken from the Papercutz graphic novel "Night of the Nindroids," too****.**

**Also, a huge thank you to EsmeraldaValiente for beta-reading this! Much appreciated. ^_^**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the following, specifically Ninjago.**

* * *

Ninjago, despite being comparatively small (in a continent sense), boasted just about every type of terrain you could imagine. There were deserts, ice caps, rivers, forests, jungles, plains, and of course, mountains. Lots and lots of mountains.

This evening, in one particular range of mountains, two small figures were cutting a slow path around the side of an especially rugged peak, the last hints of daylight slipping around them. One figure was wearing the loose but durable clothing of a training sensei, while the other wore bright green ninja garb, concealing a glimmer of golden fabric beneath it.

Both of them were experienced climbers, but the day's journey had been long and the slope was brutal. Lloyd's concentration was ebbing; finally his foot encountered a rash of pebbles and slipped. Immediately he caught himself with one hand, stopping the fall before it even started, but the skid of gravel still caught his father's attention. From the front, Garmadon turned and cast his son a questioning look.

Lloyd looked away, his jaw tightening—every slip he made, both literal and figurative, seemed to be fuel for Garmadon's judgment. Even those times when his father did not openly scold him, Lloyd still felt his gaze sizing him up and finding him inadequate. Come on, even being the Golden Ninja still didn't cut it?

"We have gone far enough for today," announced Garmadon at last. "When we reach level ground, we can stop for the night."

"Why stop? I'm not anywhere near tired," replied Lloyd cockily, resuming his climb to prove how lively he still was.

"It is wiser to stop before one is exhausted," said Garmadon sternly, striking out for lower ground. "Push yourself too hard, and you will be helpless when the enemy strikes."

Lloyd drew a deep breath and rolled his eyes silently before following his father down the side of the slope.

"Why would they strike, anyway?" he called down, digging his toes carefully into convenient crevices in the rock. "We're out in the middle of nowhere, and we've been running in circles since the day before yesterday, when the power shut down. They don't stand a chance of finding us!"

"Overconfidence, my son!" Garmadon called back. "Even the most powerful have been brought to ruin by overconfidence."

They reached the bottom of the mountain, which tapered down into an extremely sharp and narrow valley, nudging shoulders with another mountain. Bracing against one wall of stone or the other, the two of them headed for a broader, shallower part of the valley where they could spend the night.

Lloyd started a campfire. Zane's falcon circled lazily overhead, probably searching for a last-minute snack in the scraggly underbrush at the base of the mountains. Lloyd smiled ruefully; the falcon was better-fed than he and his father would be tonight. They were carrying no food.

"We're going to need more firewood," remarked Garmadon, already setting off amidst the underbrush. Lloyd heaved himself to his feet and followed, scanning for dried twigs and branches on the ground.

"Looks like we're going to have dinner tonight after all, son!" called Garmadon from farther down.

"Really?" Lloyd slid the rest of the way down the slope, eager-eyed. Garmadon looked up from a small, scraggly bush that was speckled with plump purplish-blue berries. Several similar bushes were scattered around the area, their roots clawing their way grimly into the rocky ground.

"Awesome!" said Lloyd exultantly, snatching up a generous handful of berries (and possibly leaves too, but he wasn't feeling choosy just now) and popping them into his mouth. He chewed twice, then suddenly gagged and clamped a hand over his mouth, his eyes widening. Garmadon looked over.

"Sour?" he remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"_Mmph_," gulped Lloyd. He considered a minute, then laboriously resumed chewing, looking decidedly unhappy. The fruit was so acidic it stung the roof of his mouth and the inside of his cheeks.

"Myrtleberries," said Garmadon calmly. "The myrtleberry is a hardy bush, but out here in the mountains, it's all any plant can do to survive. The harsh conditions cause them to bear extremely bitter fruit."

Meanwhile Lloyd was still preoccupied with getting the berries down and keeping them that way. Finally he managed to swallow, coughed, and looked at his father with a somewhat cheated expression.

"These are for _eating?_"

"They may not taste very good, but they are still extremely nutritious. They will give you energy for tomorrow."

"How'm I supposed to get them down?"

"One berry at a time, son. What is difficult to swallow all at once goes down easily piece by piece."

"Is everything a lesson now?" asked Lloyd, a tad peevishly. There was just a hint of something mocking in his father's smile, and it riled him to no end.

"No sense in missing a good teaching opportunity when there is one available," Garmadon replied blandly.

"I think I liked it better back when you had four arms," muttered Lloyd, without thinking. He hadn't even fully intended for his father to hear that, but Garmadon clearly had. He glanced up and fixed his son with a quiet gaze. Lloyd looked back defiantly, caught too far off-guard to think of backing down.

A touch of silence; Garmadon gave something like a shrug and turned back to plucking myrtleberries. Lloyd hesitated, but at last tossed his head and noncommitally started picking berries one at a time too. Something heavy and resentful seemed to blaze soundlessly into the air between the two of them.

The silence carried on throughout the evening. After eating as many of the sour berries as their empty stomachs could tolerate, they went back to the campfire with armloads of firewood. Lloyd stretched himself out on the ground and tucked his hands behind his head, running his tongue slowly over his acid-seared gums. Cautiously he snuck a glance at his father; he was sitting and looking into the fire, his expression inscrutable.

Lloyd stifled a sigh. He supposed he should feel guilty for lashing out like that, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to feel sorry at all. As sick as it sounded, he sometimes really did wonder if it hadn't been easier getting along with his father back when they'd been prophesied to fight to the death. There had been no nagging back then.

It's not that he minded high expectations, or tough love, or constant lessons—he'd been Sensei Wu's student long enough, goodness knows. But somehow—somehow he just couldn't stop himself from resenting it a little, when it was coming from his father. His own dad had been evil just a little while ago, the scourge of Ninjago—what gave him the right to act so superior now? At least back when he'd been evil, there hadn't been the constant feeling that Lloyd could never measure up to his expectations—although sure as heck, he'd never lived up to any expectations Lloyd might have had!

Half-sighing again, Lloyd rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be another long, grueling day, filled with reprimands and lessons—and to top it off, now they were barely speaking in the first place. Usually he would have said goodnight.

About half an hour later, Garmadon got up to add more wood to the fire. As the flames leaped up and widened the ring of surrounding light, it flickered over Lloyd's slumbering form. His head was pillowed on his hand, and his hair was slightly tousled, glinting golden under the firelight. Quite thoroughly asleep. Garmadon surveyed him for a moment, his face troubled.

"Quite the teenager, aren't we, son?" he asked rhetorically, turning back to the fire and poking it with a stick. "Invincible, at least in your own eyes. Lloyd, Lloyd, with potential like yours, you mustn't throw it away."

He shook his head. Overconfident, cocky, outright rebellious at times—he'd have expected better from his son.

But then, he couldn't help but tell himself, where exactly was this "better" supposed to come from? Lloyd hadn't exactly been presented with ample opportunities to improve his character. Virtually orphaned when just a baby, struggling to follow in his father's evil footprints until he was eight, bullied at school, kicked out even though it was the only home he had, wandering alone and friendless as a mere child, falling in with the wrong company, threatened with death multiple times by Serpentine generals, abandoned to it once or twice by the only friends he had, charged with saving the future of the entire world, robbed of a carefree childhood, artificially aged ten years in one night, guilted by his friends for not being able to kill his own _father_, forced to watch his dad being possessed by the Overlord—if there was a textbook out there called _How to Live a Messed-Up Life,_ Lloyd was following it word for word.

And then, he had missed those ten years that the Tomorrow Tea had aged him. Ten whole years of learning, growing, maturing—lost. He was really doing pretty well morally and mentally, considering. Sensei Wu had taught him well.

Garmadon allowed himself a sigh, tossing the stick into the fire idly. Maybe . . . maybe that was part of the problem. Of course, he was eternally grateful to Wu, for looking after his son while he himself was in no condition to raise him. But at the same time, confound it all, plain honest, he was a little jealous. He'd been cheated out of his son's whole childhood, even his first words and first steps. His brother had been the one to teach Lloyd bravery, teach him Spinjitzu, teach him how to drive, teach him about girls—wait, wait. _Had_ anyone ever explained to Lloyd about girls? That was something Garmadon would have to inquire into.

But yeah, maybe that explained a lot. All the important lessons had been covered by his brother, and Garmadon was left with an independent, free-spirited teenager who really didn't need him at all. So maybe he was . . . maybe he was just a little desperate to teach his son something, to feel that he had played at least some role in molding the boy's character. Maybe he was pushing just a little too hard.

Not that Lloyd didn't still have a lot to learn. There was still plenty he needed to know, plenty of things both practical and moral. But still, maybe it wouldn't hurt to ease up on the boy a little bit, not be quite so demanding. No sense poisoning what time they had left, since there was so very little of it . . . Garmadon looked away hastily, blinking.

Eventually, throwing the last of the firewood onto the campfire, he lay down to sleep as well. The falcon was perched overhead, its red eyes wide and alert—it would warn them in case of approaching danger.

* * *

Later that night, when the sky was at its darkest, Lloyd began to twitch and murmur in his sleep. It might have been the stomachfull of sour berries, or the incident before bed, or sheer chance, but he was having the oddest nightmares. Gradually they morphed from the simply bizarre to the vividly real, until he was reliving all the worst moments of the past, more and more accurately—till at last he bolted upright, gasping, the image of a crocodile-faced monster with burning purple eyes still seared into his brain.

For a moment he panted, unsure if he should laugh or be angry with himself—fancy, the great Golden Ninja, having nightmares like a little kid!

But looking over at his father, who was still soundly asleep, he found himself regretting what he'd said earlier. Heck no, he didn't miss those earlier days at all. He'd forgotten, for a while, how much it ached believing he and his father were doomed to destroy each other. A little well-intentioned nagging was a small, small price to pay. He thought back to all the times his father had shown how much he cared, and imagined how hard he must be trying now to be a good dad, and wondered if he—if he knew about Misako and—ohhhh, darn it, he felt pretty rotten about himself just now.

"Dad?" he found himself whispering, in the vague hope that maybe Garmadon was awake. "Dad?"

No reply. Lloyd sighed; he'd tell him in the morning. For just a second he wished he was a little kid again, young enough to throw his arms around his father's waist and hug him tight, but he pushed that thought away quickly. Buck up, buck up, you're a steely-eyed ninja now. Deal with it.

Yawning, Lloyd settled down again, shut his eyes, and drifted off without even realizing it.

* * *

When he awoke, the sun was already sparkling into view in the east, and the falcon was pecking at his head insistently. Groaning blearily, Lloyd pushed the bird's beak away and sat up, rubbing his eyes. The fire had died down to coals overnight, and his father's blanket was rolled up neatly nearby. Lloyd considered last night's dreams with a cooler head now, still scraping sleep from his eyelids.

He would be honest with himself. It still _had_ been easier getting along with his dad back when he was evil. Back then, they'd been able to stand on opposite sides of the moral battleline, pitted against each other for the future of the world—and still know they loved each other, because that was what made the fight so hard. Now, when they had all the time in the world together, they had plenty of time to grate on each other's nerves. In the pettiness of day-to-day life, it was easy to take each other for granted and focus only on the annoying parts of being father and son.

And it was going to keep on being annoying. They were going to keep clashing; Garmadon was going to keep nagging, Lloyd was going to keep needling him, they were going to keep disagreeing about training methods, probably forever. They'd been through too much to ever have a normal relationship—kind of like the myrtleberry bushes out here, so battered by the elements that they could only ever produce sour fruit. But hey—even if the fruit was bitter, it was still nourishing. Father and son would make it through all the squabbles, and still love each other at the end of the day. There was life for ya.

Stretching and yawning one last time, Lloyd got to his feet and headed down to the little creek he heard babbling in the distance.

When he got there, he found Garmadon sitting quietly at the water's edge, seemingly watching the fish swim by. Stepping up wordlessly, Lloyd sat down next to him. For a while nothing was said. Lloyd traced his toe along a groove in the riverbank, feeling his father's gaze swinging to him, and at last ventured to glance sidewise, his eyes hopeful. Garmadon gave him an understanding smile, and Lloyd broke into an answering grin. Just like that, all was forgiven.

"The coals have burned down low enough to cook on now," remarked Garmadon, as Lloyd stooped for a drink and a slapdash face-wash. "Fish for breakfast?"

"Sounds great, but how?" said Lloyd, giving his ears a lick and a promise. "We don't have a fishing pole or net."

"Watch, and I will teach you how to catch fish with nothing but your hands."

"You can do that?"

"Go ahead, son. Try it."

Lloyd considered, then peered into the quick-moving stream, waiting for a fish to swim into view.

"Catching fish is a lot like outsmarting enemies," said Garmadon, as Lloyd set his sights on a little blue fish that came wriggling along. "If you wait until they are right upon you to strike—" Lloyd grabbed, and the fish darted effortlessly away from his hand "—they will easily outmaneuver you. The key lies in planning ahead, anticipating your enemies' moves."

Lloyd shrugged and looked up expectantly, waiting for his father to continue. Obligingly, Garmadon dipped his hand underwater and held it there.

"You must set your traps even before the enemy comes into sight. Anticipate their arrival, far ahead of time." He nodded upstream, where an enormous red fish was proceeding lazily along with the current. "When you sight the enemy from afar, evaluate your plans, determine if they will be sufficient to catch them. Adjust as needed." He slid his hand carefully farther out into the stream, so that the fish would swim right into it. "When they come closer, patience is key. Spring your trap too soon, and they might still evade it. Wait for the very last minute, let them work themselves into your grasp—" and indeed, the fish was now right underneath his hand "—and then, at the correct moment, strike!"

With a swift but smooth movement, Garmadon seized the fish by the dorsal fin and hoisted it out of the water. His scaly catch, however, seemed to disapprove of this plan. There was a flurry of splashing and thrashing, water flew every which way, and the fish went leaping merrily downstream again, leaving the two people on the bank dripping wet and somewhat startled.

"Most importantly," resumed Garmadon at last, wiping water from his face, "remember that even with the best-laid plans, sometimes the fish still wins."

Lloyd had been trying very hard until now not to crack up, but at this point he lost it. Garmadon chuckled ruefully and reached over to scruff up his hair mock-scoldingly.

"Catch a fish yourself son, then you can laugh."

Fifteen minutes later they were both soaked to the skin, but had enough fish for a fair breakfast. Lloyd couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so much, but he had also managed to more or less get the hang of catching the little scalies, and had caught almost as many as Garmadon. Maybe by the evening they would both be tired and snappish again, but this particular morning was just exquisite.

While breakfast was cooking, Lloyd's hunger got the better of him. Resigned, he gathered a handful of myrtleberries and popped them into his mouth one at a time, chewing quickly to get the acidic pulp off his tongue. Suddenly, after biting into one particular berry, his eyes widened.

"This one tastes good!" he said surprisedly.

"It does happen now and then," replied Garmadon. "Even in these conditions, the myrtleberry bush still manages to produce a sweet berry or two, occasionally."

"Mm." Lloyd nodded in understanding, sat back, and chewed extra-slowly, savoring the one sugary mouthful. Against the sour background of the other berries, this one tasted all the sweeter.


End file.
